I don't think that we could have fit anymore into
this day, but as Pam said, "It really didn't feel rushed."
Friday night, we were "camped" at the
Hamilton Inn in Kayenta, which is where we were to turn north to go up to
Monument Valley. The Hamilton Inn is right next to the Burger King. The
shopping center is right
behind it. It is also the first thing you see as you
are coming into town. We pulled in behind a truck with a horse trailer giving
them enough room to get out if they were to leave before us in the morning.
That precaution proved to be unnecessary, as I was
up at 4:30am and waited until almost 6am to get up. We were at the McDonalds,
which is two doors down from the Burger King, when the doors opened at 6am to
get our egg McMuffins and hot chocolates before heading out to Monument Valley.
It's about 25 miles up the highway to the Navajo park. We were at the rim for
the rising sun breaking over the monuments.
After the light evened out, we did the 17-mile
circuit around the Navajo reservation monuments. It was a dirt road that was in
better condition than many I had grown up with, and it was definitely better
than the one I grew up on. There were only few of us on the track, due it being
winter and all. With just a few more cars and tour vans on this track and it
would be a dusty mess.
What was most amazing besides the monuments was the
simple hogan down in the valley all by itself. All by itself with it’s own
windmill, water tank and outhouse.
Pam and I perused the gift shop and museum at
Gouldon’s across the highway, filled the tank with gas and headed south for
Canyon de Chelly (shey).
Instead of taking the major highways, we wanted to
see how the native nation was made up on its roads. We took BIA-59 out Kayenta
and headed southeast through incredible emptiness. Crossing Highway 191 at Many
Farms onto a dirt road that was on the map was a single line to the north rim
of Canyon de Chelly. There wasn’t just a single dirt lane, but many dirt lanes
leading to who knows where. We watched one van turn off the dirt road and onto
a trail of sorts that you’d hardly notice if you didn’t watch the van turn onto
it and head over the hill. We never made it to the north rim. We, instead, had
just made a sort of long arc that led back to Highway 191 just up the road from
Chinle.
Having the decision made for us, we headed for the
main entrance to the Canyon de Chelly. The ranger there told me about the hike
to the White House ruins. We had just enough time to do the hike and get back
out of the canyon before darkness set in.
From the first time the canyon was exposed, the
beauty, the colors, the scale were overwhelming to the senses. The sign that
said pets were not allowed and that children should be leashed had us excited
to see what kind of trail this was. It was a beautiful trail. Only a mile and a
half, it was well built with benches for resting as it carried you back in
time.
As you reached the bottom of the canyon, there was
a small hogan made of small logs with a green, rolled roof covered in patches.
There were a couple of metal lawn chairs sitting under the single cottonwood
tree. A sign asking you not to take pictures was puzzling, as it was such a
serene scene. We abided and moved down the trail following the river to the
ruins.
The ruins, of course, had to be fenced off to
protect it from further vandalism. If you didn’t dwell too long on the
graffiti, the simple beauty of White House shone through.
As were approaching the ruins, a small Navajo women
with two white ski pole and purple school backpack was struggling to bend down
to pick up a piece of candy wrapper off the ground. I made some comment about
how people have no problem carrying stuff down with them, but somehow have
difficulty carrying it back and we shared a knowing smile. After our time with
at the ruins, we headed back up the trail. A short way past the pit toilets
walking through a stand of cottonwoods was this same Navajo woman. She was
walking slowly, picking her way through the roots of the trees, the weight of
her pack evident.
She stopped to talk with Pam and me as we caught up
with her. We chatted a bit before I asked her about which direction she was
heading. Since we were going back up to the parking lot too, I asked if I could
carry her backpack for her and dismissed her worries about her being too slow
for us. This would give us a good reason to go up slow too.
Her name is Winnie and she was born in the hogan at
the bottom of the canyon. It had been several years since she had been down to
the bottom, as her health had prevented her from hiking. She was trying to
build back up the strength that she once had and walking down into the canyon
was part of that effort.
Asking her what it was like to grow up in the
canyon started the conversation off and we didn’t stop telling stories until we
got to the top an hour or so later. Winnie was the only girl in the family with
nine brothers. The oldest one being her protector and the one next to her on
the older side was her challenger.
As we reached the top, Winnie asked if we had any
more questions. The only question I had was if she had a ride home. Her
grandson was going to pick her up after the basketball game ended around 8pm,
which was in about three hours. I asked her if we could take her home. She
agreed and we were off.
After we dropped her at her niece’s place where she
was staying, we decided that making dinner was going to take too long. We opted
for the only restaurant in town. The best part was getting a meal with my first
Navajo fry bread.
We planned on camping at the park campground, which
was right at the gate of the park, but we couldn’t find a way into it. When we
saw it in the afternoon, it was absolutely empty. It was dark, we were tired
and then I remembered that Winnie said that when she would go up to the White
House trail early in the morning she would find campers in the parking lot. It
was a quiet night with the Milky Way gracing the sky.
We were one our way before it was light and we’d
reached the Petrified Forest National Park just after it opened at 8am. The
beauty of the Painted Desert and the ancient tropical trees lying in a desert
halfway around the world and 30 degrees latitude north of where they grew were
surreal and awesome. After drive and hike, we were headed home.
